


[others can pick and choose if you can't]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Wincest - Freeform, girl!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-01
Updated: 2010-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-08 14:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She can take it in stride, though; sometimes Dean yells, sometimes she slams doors and doesn't talk at all, and well, Dad just leaves. It's all things she's gotten used to over time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[others can pick and choose if you can't]

It's been raining nonstop for the last three days, and she's tired of the gloom. Dean's been in a foul mood since Dad left and she's, unfortunately, taken the brunt of his anger. She can take it in stride, though; sometimes Dean yells, sometimes she slams doors and doesn't talk at all, and well, Dad just leaves. It's all things she's gotten used to over time.

She can hear Dean inside the room, cleaning weapons with less grace than usual, and doesn't feel like trying to make him feel better. She's not the one who told him he had to stay behind and be a glorified babysitter for her; her choice would be to stay here alone and let the two of them hunt – she could get some homework done that way. She sighs, tucks her hair behind her ear, and pulls her knees up to her chest. There's hardly a roof for her to sit under, and something more like an awning, but it's enough to keep her dry and she opens _Catch 22_ for the third time today. Trying to get comfortable, she stretches her legs out, letting her feet hang out of the shelter and get wet, and she doesn't mind. It's quiet enough for her to get through a few chapters, until Dean and his attitude ruin it.

"Get your feet out of the rain," he says, slamming the door shut behind him. "You're going to catch cold and I'm not taking care of you."

She doesn't bother to argue that it's eighty degrees out and just pulls her legs up, resting her book against her knees. She hears Dean flick his lighter open and can smell the cigarette the moment he exhales. It's his new thing now, smoking when Dad's not around, like he's not old enough to do it and afraid he'll get caught.

"That shit stinks," Sam finally says, turning a page in her book. "I don't know how Dad doesn't smell it on you as soon as he comes home. It's not like he can do anything; you're twenty years old and you can legally smoke if you want to."

"Just keep your mouth shut about it," Dean says. "I don't tell Dad everything and he doesn't need to know about this, either."

She turns another page. "Sure, Dean," she says, less in the mood to argue with him than she normally does. "It's your secret to keep, not my business to go tell Dad you're killing yourself one smoke at a time."

"Shut up," he says, and smoke drifts in her direction – she knows he blew it at her on purpose.

"You're a dick," she says. She folds the corner of the page she's on, since she's still at a loss for a bookmark, and closes her book. She stands and leans against the brick wall.

He asks her if she's hungry and she shrugs. "You've been out here for a while," he says. "We can go get something to eat."

She curls her damp toes against the pavement, and shakes her head, letting pieces of hair come loose and hang in her face. "No," she says. "I'm ok for now."

"You're too skinny," he says, flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the parking lot.

"I didn't hear you complaining last night," she says, looking up at him through a fringe of bangs and smirking just a little. She watches the corner of his mouth turn up and he shakes his head slightly. "So when is Dad coming back?"

Dean shrugs but doesn't look angry anymore. "I don't know, to be honest. I haven't heard from him in the last few days." It's unusual for Dad not to check in for three days, but not unheard of. He's gone longer than that without calling and come back all in one piece – or mostly in one piece.

"You look tired," she says, and yawns. "I'm tired," she adds. "Want to take a nap?"

Dean looks at her, arching an eyebrow. "A nap? Isn't that kind of a waste of time?"

"Not if you're tired and need the rest," she answers. She opens the door to their room and heads inside, Dean right behind her.

It's not the best place they've ever stayed in, but it's not the worst either. The bed is pretty much in the middle of the room, and there's a table and two chairs by the window. The bathroom is towards the back of the room and off to the left. Dean's cot is next to the bed. Without hesitating she strips off her jeans, leaving her in only her tee shirt and panties. She knows Dean is looking because she can feel his eyes on her back as she bends down to pull back the comforter on the bed. When she looks at him he's still standing in place. "Do you need an engraved invitation?" She asks, and he starts moving. He kicks off his shoes next to the table and hangs his jeans on the back of one of the chairs; this is how he always sleeps, with or without her, in his boxers and tee shirt.

She climbs into bed and he follows close behind her, pulling the comforter back up and over them both once they're lying down. He curves around her, holding her to him like he always does, a warm solid presence at her back.

She wakes up too warm, hair stuck to the back of her neck and Dean pressed up close with his arm over her waist. His breath is hot against her neck and she shifts to kick the covers off of them. She pushes them down with her feet until it feels less smothering and stills herself against her brother. She wants to wake him up and push him off of her because it's too damn warm, but she doesn't. Instead, she runs her fingers over his hands; his skin is always soft and warm, smelling like gun oil and leather – only his palms are rough with calluses. She lifts his hand to her face and breathes him in, loving the way he smells, and presses her mouth to the back of his hand, loving the way he tastes. She presses open mouthed kisses to the back of his hand, over his fingers, touching her tongue to the pad of his fingers just to taste the salt of his sweat. He shifts next to her, but she doesn't stop.

"Keep doing that and naptime is going to be ruined," he says, voice rough with sleep.

She smiles against his skin. "I would be so terribly disappointed."

"I thought so," he says and pulls his hand away from her mouth. He slides it up under her tee shirt instead, palm warm against her belly. He shifts his hips so she can feel his cock, hard and pressed against her ass.

"Mmm," she hums, pushing back against him. "I'm not tired anymore."

"Good," he says back, turning her so she is on her back. He leans over her and she loves – loves – the way he looks at her.

"I really, really want you inside me," she whispers and he groans, pressing his cock between her legs.

"Jesus, Sam," he whispers.

Then he's kissing her, tongue in her mouth, hands pulling her panties down; she lifts her hips so he can slide them off, and she kicks them to the side. She pushes his boxers down until she can't reach and can feel him kick them off; she grabs his ass with both hands to grind him down against her. She can feel his dick slide warm and hard against her cunt, and she groans into his mouth. "Please," she says into their kiss. "God, Dean, please."

"It's ok, baby," he says and she lifts her hips to rub against him. "I've got you."

He pulls her tee shirt off first, then his own. His jeans are on the back of the chair, which means so is his wallet, which means so are the condoms. She knows that's where he'll be going next and stops him with a leg around his hips. "Sammy, I have to –"

"Don't," she whispers. "Please, don't. We're safe," she says between kisses. "I'm on the pill and I haven't been with anyone and," she gasps when he presses his fingers into her, rubs his knuckles against her clit. "_Please_," she whimpers.

She can see the hesitation in his eyes for a moment, and then he's kissing her again, knuckles brushing her thighs as he positions the tip of his dick against her entrance. She moans into his mouth, ready to beg him, and then he pushes in. She gasps into his mouth, cunt clenching tight around him.

"God, Sammy," he whispers against her lips, and then he's thrusting, slow and deep movements that have her breath stuck in her chest.

She can hear the wet sounds they make and she can't get enough. It scares her sometimes how little she can get enough of Dean, and it terrifies her to think about what that means for the rest of her life. She stops thinking about any of it when Dean's thumb presses hard against her clit, rubbing small, tight circles that have her hips lifting to meet his. She doesn't care if this doesn't last long – the feeling of Dean inside of her is enough for now.

"Fuck," she pants against his mouth. He moves, lips against her neck, fucking into her hard enough that she's moving up the bed. She can feel her orgasm building, starting in her spine, and digs her short nails into Dean's shoulders when it ricochets out of her. There's a noise coming from her she can't identify and she's shaking all over.

He starts kissing her again, deep and full kisses that leave her gasping for air and clinging to him. She wants to tell him _I love you_ over and over and over until he gets it, but she doesn't; she knows Dean better than that. So she wraps her legs around him too, matching him thrust for thrust, clinging to him like she might die if she lets go.

"Oh god, Sammy," he gasps into her neck. He has both hands on her hips now, fucking into her hard and quick. She wraps her legs around his waist, moving with him. "Fuck," he whispers against her skin, and she can feel him tensing up, feel him shake. He pants into her neck when he's coming, and she can feel it; she can feel him coming inside of her, and God, she never wants to forget.

When Dean's sleeping she watches him. The lines in his face smooth out and he looks content in a way he never does awake. She doesn't touch him because she knows if she does he'll wake, so she watches him instead, taking in the smooth and hard planes of his body, and his soft mouth. When she looks at Dean it hurts; her chest aches because she wants so bad to stay here, to stay with him and never leave, and she knows that isn't how things are going to be. She knows she can't stay here, can't stay in this life, because it's a long and winding dead end. There's nowhere for her to go in this life except six feet under, and she won't watch it eventually happen to both Dad and Dean. She never intended on doing this forever – she never intended on doing it at all, and there just isn't any way to make him understand. So she watches him sleep so she can memorize his face.

 

When their father comes back, it's an immediate pack up and go. She doesn't argue this time, because she knows it's going to be one of those "last times". They're heading for the dry heat of New Mexico, and she wonders if the sunset will be as bright as the future they have no clue she's heading for.


End file.
